Herbie Brennan - The Faeman Quest

‘Plug it in beside the sink.’

Plug it in? When the servants wanted to boil a kettle without using up a spell cone, they hung it over an open fire. But plug it in? How did you plug in a kettle? To play for time she moved slowly over to the sink – she knew what a sink was – and looked around vaguely.

‘Plug’s beside the microwave,’ Aisling said helpfully.

What, in the name of the Old Gods, was a microwave? For the first time since she’d arrived in the Analogue Realm, Mella began to feel she was drowning. Then suddenly she noticed the wording on the chicken-sized flavour chamber: Siemens HF26056GB 1000 Watts Microwave. Brilliant, but what now? Plug it into the microwave? No, Aunt Aisling said beside the microwave. Mella felt her mind move into a higher gear, as it sometimes did when she was faced with an emergency. There were several pieces of kitchen equipment beside the microwave, but only one of them looked anything like what she was searching for: a black rubbery snake with a short, thick tube thing on the end. A plug? It might be a plug. It might be the plug. But the interesting thing, maybe the important thing, her whizzing mind told her, was that the plug (?) looked as if it might fit into the tube sticking out of the kettle. She tried pushing it in. At first it wouldn’t go, then she twisted it slightly and in it slid! Mella set the kettle down triumphantly.

‘You’ll have to switch it on at the wall,’ Aisling said.

Mella’s eyes slid along the black snake. At the far end from the kettle, it entered the wall by way of a peculiar plate. On the plate was a switch. But Mella knew how to operate switches. She pressed this one down with a feeling of triumph. To her relief, Aunt Aisling was no longer watching her, but had opened a cupboard and taken out a smaller, pot-bellied kettle with its handle on the back. Unlike real kettles, this vessel wasn’t used in the Faerie Realm at all, but she knew what it was from pictures: a teapot. She watched with fascination as Aunt Aisling spooned dried herbs into it from a yellow container.

‘I hate tea bags, don’t you?’ Aisling said mysteriously.

‘Positively loathe them,’ Mella told her.

Minutes later, Aisling was pouring out two cups of amber liquid. ‘I do hope you don’t take milk with Earl Grey,’ she murmured.

Mella gave an ostentatious shudder as she carried her cup to the table. ‘Never touch it.’ She could wing this conversation, she knew she could. She’d winged it beautifully already because clearly Aunt Aisling didn’t suspect a thing. All she needed to do now was steer it. And keep her wits about her. And pick up as much about the Analogue World as possible. Things were actually working out rather well. Aunt Aisling was pretty stupid, according to her father’s journal. It was just as well to get in a little practice with her before she met her grandmother, who wasn’t stupid at all. She smiled benignly at Aisling and took her first sip of Earl Grey tea.

She tasted the bergamot at once and liked the way it blended into the smoky, dusty flavour of the tea itself. No wonder this drink was popular in the Analogue World: it was seriously delicious. She took another sip before remembering to go slowly. This was an infusion faeries were warned about and, while she was only half-faerie, there was still a 50/50 chance it would affect her. So careful was the keyword. ‘Nice tea,’ she remarked. It seemed a safe, sophisticated thing to say.

Aisling asked suddenly, ‘What age are you, Mella?’

‘Fifteen. Nearly sixteen. Why do you ask, Aunt Aisling?’

Aisling shrugged. ‘I was just surprised Henry let you make the journey all on your own.’ She looked seriously at Mella. ‘Without telling us. We could have met you at the airport.’

This one she’d been expecting. Mella smiled. ‘Actually, I was surprised you didn’t. I’ve been wondering if Grandmother didn’t get Father’s letter.’ She batted her eyelids innocently. This was the heart of the story she’d concocted, cunningly contrived not just to explain her unexpected appearance, but to make everyone else feel guilty about it. There was no letter, of course: how could there be?

‘Henry wrote to Mother about your visit?’

Mella nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh, yes, of course. Telling her all about my visit and asking if I could stay with her. He didn’t mind me taking the flight on my own – he said he wanted me to learn independence – but he thought Grandmother might meet me at the airport, or arrange for somebody else to.’ She took another sip of her tea and looked at Aisling benignly. ‘I didn’t really mind when there was no one there. It’s really not so far from Heathrow. I took a taxi.’

‘What?’ Aisling asked. ‘All the way from Fairyland?’

Consolidated Magical Services had done quite a good job with their Body in a Box, but it lacked one obvious feature. There were no wheels built into the onyx cube and the delicate solid-state spell circuitry meant none could be attached once it was factory-sealed. As a result, when Lord Hairstreak wanted to go anywhere, the whole contraption had to be loaded on to a wheelbarrow and pushed to its destination with his head wobbling on top. The only servant he would trust with this task was an ancient family retainer called Battus Polydamas, who wheezed and complained incessantly, but knew how to keep secrets and would have given his life for his master.

‘Careful, Batty!’ Hairstreak screamed as the barrow hit a bump and the cube swayed alarmingly. If the thing ever toppled over, there was a risk that the connections would snap and his head roll off across the floor. It wouldn’t kill him, of course – the head was indestructible thanks to the safety spells – but the experience was always disorienting. Furthermore, reattachment was painful and could take anything up to a week, during which he was unable to communicate except by eye-blinks.

‘ Careful, is it? We want careful? ’ Batty muttered. ‘You mind your manners, young Master Hairstreak, and don’t try to teach your grampa how to suck slugs.’ He wheezed and tugged the barrow round in order to negotiate a corner. The cube began to sway in the other direction.

The violent weather spells that marked the approaches to Lord Hairstreak’s Keep stood in stark contrast to the weather spells located in the sky above the building’s central courtyard. When the Duke of Burgundy had owned the Keep, this vast area was paved with granite and used exclusively for military manoeuvers. One of Hairstreak’s first actions when he began to recover his fortune was to change all that. Teams of gnomes were called in to break up the stone, topsoil was imported by the ton and the fashionable Forest Faerie designer Celadon was hired to create a garden. Not one single specified plant (with the exception of grass) would grow naturally at the northerly latitude of the Keep, but Hairstreak was taken by the scheme and approved the cost of the weather spells that would make it possible. The result was an extraordinary – and in places extraordinarily challenging – creation unlike any other garden in the entire realm. His great-niece now lived there permanently and consequently only Hairstreak ever visited it. The magical securities around the perimeter were set to spectacularly lethal levels. Batty was the only servant who could pass them safely; and even then, only when he was barrowing the cube.

Hairstreak felt the hot, humid air on his face as they entered the approach corridor and experienced a pleasant tingle of anticipation in the centre of his cube. He enjoyed these little garden jaunts for more than one reason. His great-niece was quite delightful, of course, just at that age when children ceased to be children and formed entertainingly fatuous opinions of their own. But unlike most teenaged faeries – Lighters or Nighters – she was unfailingly polite to him and affectionate; one might even say loving. As he’d trained her to be, of course, but an unusual experience for Hairstreak just the same. He quite looked forward to these little visits, although he purposely limited them to once a week: it would never do if the girl became too familiar. At the moment she remained in awe of him, a useful reaction that could only be maintained by distance. In his experience, familiarity all too often led to the discovery of one’s weaknesses and at the moment he had all too many weaknesses waiting to be discovered, any one of which might prove fatal to his plans. The last thing he needed was to have to kill her. That would mean scrapping years of effort and starting afresh, something that scarcely bore thinking about.